Death Comes for Us All
by LadyDivine91
Summary: Kurt and Blaine are gladiators, spending one last morning together before their final battle. Klaine. Kurt H. Blaine A.


**A/N: This is a re-write.**

Blaine's lips collide with Kurt's, burning, scarring as he tries to mark all of the skin he can reach. His hands, rough and calloused from a lifetime of fighting with a mace and sword, grab Kurt by the hips and flip him over on the dirt floor.

Kurt scrabbles to prop himself up on his hands and knees. His hand squishes into a pile of dried dung. He grimaces just as the man behind him rakes his nails down his back, careful to avoid the more excruciating of Kurt's healing wounds. A month ago, Kurt would have reared up in revulsion at having a palm covered in pig shit, but now he simply wipes his filthy hand in the dirt until it's relatively clean and lets the delicious assault on his ass fully occupy his mind.

The gladiators had started out two hundred strong. Among them were ranked volunteers (though of those there were only a handful), thieves, slaves, and prisoners of war. Kurt and Blaine were among those few trained in armed combat – Kurt having been a decorated Roman soldier, tried as a traitor for offering aid to an enemy (giving food to a malnourished orphan girl), and Blaine, a Thracian who had served as a soldier for the Romans, until it was decided that his skills in combat would be put to better use in entertainment than in battle.

For political purposes, he was being punished for having impure blood running through his veins.

Fight after fight, their numbers thinned, and as a celebration of those who survived, the men often spent the night lying with one another, writhing together in large masses or pairing off in quiet corners. It was on the third night of celebrating that Kurt met Blaine.

And Kurt _loathed_ him.

Kurt was a pure blooded Roman, and even in disgrace, he felt himself far and above most of the men in their doomed campaign. But time and time again, Blaine threw himself into the fray for Kurt. It infuriated Kurt to have this Thracian scum save his life over and over, that he would steal the glory that Kurt sought for himself. So as the nights wore on, Kurt made it a point to mock Blaine, to fuck others in front of him, to tease him and slight him with jokes and songs in Kurt's native tongue – a language he deemed too complicated for the likes of Blaine to understand.

It wasn't until Blaine single-handedly took on an angry Bengal tiger in defense of Kurt's life that Kurt realized this pathetic existence he had - fighting for the entertainment of those who would just as happily see him torn to shreds and devoured by wild animals - he owed entirely to this man. Kurt tasted that knowledge like sour wine against his cracked lips. Stripped of his money and his title, he had no way to repay this man.

So Kurt gave Blaine his body instead; made himself Blaine's lover only.

Kurt didn't expect to feel affection for him.

He didn't expect to fall in love with him.

Their first night together, Blaine muttered beautiful words against Kurt's skin in the same elitist tongue that Kurt had used to scorn Blaine, and Kurt's shame embedded itself deeper into his heart. Blaine knew. He knew all of it, every insult, every word, and still, he fought for Kurt.

They don't use words now. They communicate only in grunts, groans, and sustained moans of pleasure, deaf to the jeers and catcalls of those who pass by to gawk at the two condemned men. These are their last moments together; they belong only to Kurt and Blaine. When the sun reaches its peak, they will be armored and armed, and then set loose in the Colosseum to face what, the Gods only know. Another mad tiger or an angry bear, an army of a hundred men, a giant from foreign lands … maybe each other.

Kurt squeezes his eyes shut when he feels Blaine's lips whisper against his neck. Tears roll down his cheek, and with every one, Kurt prays that whatever they have to face, they can face together – side by side.

Kurt could never raise a sword against Blaine, and if he refused, death for both of them would not be pleasant.

He feels Blaine's body press against him, his hands resting over Kurt's hands, lacing their fingers together.

"I'm almost there, my love," Blaine mutters, lengthening his thrusts as he tries to interpret the cues of Kurt's body.

"S-so am I," Kurt lies. Blaine shakes his head.

"No, you are not," Blaine chuckles. "I know you are not. You cannot lie to me."

"I …" Kurt swallows hard, not knowing if this is the time to divulge his fears. But what time did they have? Every second left for them is numbered, already spent. "I'm frightened, Blaine."

Blaine chuckles again, placing kisses down the curve of Kurt's spine as he slows his movements.

"You are not afraid," Blaine counters. "My Kurt is never afraid."

"But I am," Kurt confesses.

Blaine stops and kneels, holding Kurt upright in his lap, careful not to separate the two of them.

"Of what do you fear? Hmm?" Blaine asks, leaning his head against Kurt's shoulder so that his cheek rests against his.

"I fear death," Kurt says meekly, ducking his head away when Blaine laughs louder, sounding thoroughly amused.

"You are a soldier of Rome," Blaine teases. "Death is your business, my dear."

"Not _my_ death," Kurt says, his voice painfully small. "I know my death is written. I fear _yours_." Kurt turns to face his lover with watery eyes. "I don't want this to be the end."

Blaine's laughter ceases, and he sighs into Kurt's neck. He closes his eyes to think of a place where he and Kurt can be happy together as free men, and with a bittersweet triumph, he can imagine only one.

"Do you believe in the afterlife, my love?"

"Yes," Kurt says quickly since it was the truth. He did. He could never decide if it was a strength or a weakness, but he did believe. It wasn't simply the belief that his mother and father had instilled within him. It was a belief he carried with him after years of watching men and women and children die in battle, with screams in their throats or smiles on their lips. He believed there was a life after death for everyone.

That included him.

"Then have faith," Blaine says, wrapping his arms around Kurt's body, holding him tight. "Today may not be the end. It might be the beginning."


End file.
